ul Curr,
More than a Man
ingrateful:
And this poor Dog's
Fidelity,
May make a thankless
Knave descry,
How much that Vice is
hateful.

For why, of all the
Faults of Men,
Which they have got from
Hell's black Den,
Ingratitude the
worst is:
For Treasons, Murders,
Incests, Rapes,
Nor any Sin in
any shapes,
So bad, nor so
accurst is.

I hope I shall no
Anger gain,
If I do write a word
Or twain,
How this Dog was
distressed;
His Master being
wounded dead,
Shot, cut and slash'd, from
Heel to Head,
Think how he was
oppressed.

To lose him that he
loved most,
And be upon a Foreign
Coast,
Where no Man would
relieve him:
He lick'd his Masters
Wounds in Love,
And from his Carkass
would not move,
Altho' the sight
did grieve him.

By chance a Souldier
passing by,
That did his Masters
Coat espy,
And quick away he
took it:
But _Drunkard_ followed
to a Boat,
To have again his Master's
Coat,
Such Theft he could not
brook it.

So after all his wo
and wrack,
To _Westminster_ he was
brought back,
A poor half starved
Creature;
And in remembrance of
his cares,
Upon his back he
closely wears
A Mourning Coat by
Nature.

Live _Drunkard_, sober
_Drunkard_ live,
I know thou no offence
wilt give,
Thou art a harmless
Dumb thing;
And for thy love I'll
freely grant,
Rather than thou shouldst
ever want,
Each Day to give thee
something.

Thou shalt be _Stellifide_
by me,
I'll make the _Dog-star_
wait on thee,
And in his room I'll
seat thee:
When _Sol_ doth in his
Progress swing,
And in the Dog-days
hotly sing,
He shall not over-
heat thee.

I lov'd thy Master, so
did all
That knew him,
great and small,
And he did well
deserve it:
For he was Honest,
Valiant, Good,
And one that Manhood
understood,
And did till Death
preserve it.

For whose sake, I'll
his Dog prefer,
And at the Dog at
_Westminster_,
Shall _Drunkard_ be a
Bencher;
Where I will set a
work his Chops,
Not with bare Bones, or